Gone Girl - Gun Girl -
by eisceire
Summary: A new young and red headed girl gets off the boat in Roanapur and meets soemone who shows her what it is to be a two handed gunsel.


**«» GONE GIRL - GUN GIRL «»**

**o0O¥O0o**

Girl her size, shape and age sure didn't have a lot of options; not when she'd just managed to kill off and tee off enough of the big shots in the big city that she wasn't sure that there was going to be anywhere far enough for her to run. Red would sooner give it a shot than stay to be shot though and she'd heard of one place she might run to — Roanapur.

So here she is now in Roanapur: straight off the boat; sore and aching; agonisingly aware of all her girl parts — as she ship and all of the crew would only take coin of one currency and they'd taken payment in full. It was a shit good thing she'd always kept fit or the the full-on, full-time fucking she'd had to sail through would've ended her.

So here she is now in Roanapur: straight off the boat; agonisingly aware of all her girl parts as her only assets. Red is fucked if she's going to be fucked just to be alive; though she's sure there are bars and brothels enough in this cruel town for her to find trade in.

For a time she meanders, well aware of the stares that her red hair earns, wondering if she can turn it to her advantage; then a familiar sound strikes her eardrum. It's purely instinct for her to chase the sounds of a gunfight; for the entertainment of it and the hope of some pickings. By the time she gets there all that's left is a cool gent in a dark suit, long coat and shades pacing the far edge of the killing field.

Whatever about cadging a wallet or two off of a corpse what strikes Red instantly, when she finds the fallen, is the quantity of armaments strewn about among the bodies. Guns are one thing Red is sure of: she sure as shit knows how to shoot straight and she knows what that means too — power.

But it isn't power that is just there for the taking or rather it is but the resident guttersnipes are already snatching it. Red can see all of the guns and all of her hopes and all of her chances scurrying off. Red takes off like a bullet: slamming into the nearest boy; beating on him; pounding on him; clawing punching, kicking, biting, choking until he slumps to the floor and she goes to snatch the gun away from the bloodied lump.

Red never gets to it: a thieving foot kicks it away from her — a thieving, adult foot has kicked it away from her. Red twists about and looks up, from where she is crouched over her victim, to see a twin-holstered, cigarette-lipping, gunsel with a devil's smile grinning down on her.

« Not so easy in this fucked town, kid. You want it you gotta earn it. See you at the Burnt Factory at moonrise. »

« How the shitting fuck you expect me to find that; I'm just off the buggering boat. »

« First shitting test, kid »

Red passes and surpasses that first test by locating the building fast and early. Noticing a shooting gallery of old cans and such in the yard she decides to find an eyrie up in the old factory; where she can observe unseen.

She uses some old boxes for cover: as she crouches down on the broken floor, where a wall is torn away, to leave a ragged hole and a good vantage point.

As the moon moves upwards in the sky, more and more guntoting youngsters gather in the yard. Red edges forward for a better view and then the thieving foot, that robbed her of a gun, finally turns up.

»»»»»»»»» thumping her hard in the back

»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»» thrusting her over the edge

»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»» tumbling her through the air

»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»» tossing her a full two storeys

»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»» terminating her on the hard, deadly concrete

Somehow she survives; not by any merit of her own but by the web of hands that the other kids have caught her in. No sooner is she set on her feet than the gunsel is shouting down to her.

« Hey kid; what the fuck good would a gun do you there? »

« Not a bastard thing; what kinda cocksucking shit are you trying to pull. That kinda trick buggers you up fucking fatally. »

« Wrong. »

The gunsel steps out on thin air to arabesque earthwards; drawing both guns along the way and drilling the targets scattered around with lethal precision; well before making a lightfooted touchdown. It's an awesome display of deadly, elegant coolness.

« Wanna learn? »

Does she!? Red is willing to sell her soul to be half as good as her gunslinger hero — except she knows she lost that a long time ago. Yet she says none of this; as it's a bone deep survival instinct to stay zipped tight, whatever may come. Instead she asks the one, single, solitary question that matters at all; to someone dancing on the ragged edge of survival as she is.

« Why the buggering fuck are you doing this? How much are you gonna take me for? »

« Not gonna take you for shit; long as I get to fuck Roanapur over. »

Her gunslinger hands Red a gun and watches how she does, while still explaining.

« We all just got off the boat on some day and this shitstorm town figured it could bury us deader than the ash on my cig. »

Red's gunslinger pauses to tap the ash off of the eternally lipped cigarette.

« I got lucky and found claws long enough to dig myself outta the crap I'd gotten myself buried in. »

Red gets given a second gun to show off with; the explanation continues.

« It worked for me and it'll work for you. The more of us bugs have got guns and power the softer Roanapur has to walk. »

Red knows where she is now. This is her land where God and Love are only the whisper of a dream. There are no kandiflos skies and the only power you have is the power you have in your hand.

Red crows out « Fuck me over and I'll fuck you back, harder. »

Her gunslinger replies « Too sweet. » and there is a general murmur of support for Red.

« I'm gonna call myself Two Hands » Red states; hefting the two firearms she's been lent.

Her gunslinger says otherwise.

« No you ain't, kid; that name's taken — by me. »


End file.
